I was visiting my aunt this weekend and plopped down next to her on the couch and came face to face with a decorative box that was sitting on the coffee table. I was quietly admiring the fine painting that had been done on it when my aunt spoke up and said "That's my urn." With a look of puzzlement I looked from the box to her. Nodding, she said "That's my urn, you know, for my ashes, you'll have to put it on your mantle." Ummmm...
First of all.. I do not plan to put the ashes of ANYONE OR ANYTHING on my mantle at ANYTIME! I do not care who it is that dies, they're not going on my mantle!
Reason 1. The chance of someone's ghost/spirit hanging around thier freshly charred remains is way too high for me to be comfortable.
Reason 2. Explaining to friends, small child-like relatives what exactly is in the box on my mantle.
Reason 3. We've all seen Meet The Parents, what happens when the box gets knocked off the mantle and there's ash all over my livingroom. *covers mouth* I just threw up in my mouth a little.
Secondly.. At what point do you become either so fascinated with your own death or run out of things to do to amuse yourself that you actually take the time to go urn shopping!? Or is it more like you're just shopping along and you see a nice box "Ooooer! I love that box! I want to be DEAD in that box!"
ugh.
Comments (1)
Yes, but I wouldn't call it morbidity—it's an acknowledgement of what everyone so much as a year "younger than you" has been pushing in your face since you hit forty. At forty, people start referring to you as "old." He's my argument:
At any time in your adult life you might get that call, "Hi, this is your doctor's office. Doctor wants you to visit the clinic to see if that lump is benign." Or how 'bout Sgt. Tom of the Highway Patrol knocking on your last known address and informing your loved ones that you'll be home as soon as the DOT can scrape you and what's left of your car off the front of the tractor-trailer.
Life is not guaranteed—not your birth, only your death. The time inbetween—your life—is a thing only of memory. If there is destiny, it is your death. (Though I think there is more to be said about destiny and free will.) Your aunt has arrived at the point of life where she has to acknowledge that she is getting closer to her end than her beginning.
I happen to know your age, and you are too young and healthy to understand your aunt's need to be remembered. Children and memory are our final comfort. We don't want to die and disappear. If you are kind of heart, you'll learn to look within yourself to see beyond yourself. Your aunt was asking that you love her.
Posted by Sunrise Dancer | September 13, 2007 3:06 PM
Posted on September 13, 2007 15:06